


Souma/Shuusuke Miscellany

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Companionable Snark, Feelings, M/M, Mid-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for all the Souma/Shuusuke things I've written for tumblr prompts and/or fics I started to write but quickly realized there wasn't enough for a standalone fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Shikkoku no Shou, pretty much the night of Souma getting shot by Amane. What if Shuusuke slamming him against a wall made an impression? :P

_There’s a wall at Souma’s back, and Shiba’s body pressing into his front. They don’t talk, don’t communicate, they have nothing in common after all. They’ve just been thrown together. But they can kiss like this; sudden, brutal, uncompromising. Just like their non-partnership. Shiba’s fingers dig into Souma’s hip, right where the bullet grazed him. Souma lets it happen because the pain is so good…_

And then suddenly everything is soft and Souma’s lying down, still, but not motionless. His pillow is so warm, it feels like he’s cuddling up to a heap of coals. It’s soaked with his sweat, and all his blankets are knotted around his shins and ankles. 

Recently, Souma is always devastated to find himself awake. Somehow, even his nightmares are preferable to reality. He doesn’t want to deal with his own self-incriminations. Doesn’t want to think about Haruki rotting or bleeding somewhere. He’s obsessively infuriated at letting himself be convinced that he might be okay within Sakura. 

This particular post-dream disappointment tastes different, though. It’s like waking up hungry.

His eyes seek out Shiba the way his fingers might scratch at a scab. It’s a relief that he’s not in his bed. Maybe he’s not even in the room. But then Souma looks towards their desk, and he finds the guy sitting there. Reading the news or something. His glasses make everything seem formal, but he seems to wear PJs like the rest of the planet. His profile is as sharp as one of Haruki’s knives. 

Their eyes meet, in the blue-black darkness of their room. If it were around noon, he might kind of shuffle away, hoping Shiba wouldn’t see the filthy dream in his eyes. He can’t leave now, though. Where would he go? What reasonable excuse could he possibly make? 

They continue to stare. Souma thinks of that alleyway, that mission, today’s events that already seem eons away. Shiba moving fast, pinning him against a wall, his breath teasing Souma’s neck…

At once, the curiosity is as overwhelming as his dream. He wants to kiss someone until his lips bleed. He wants to lose himself in someone else’s body. He wants to be vulnerable yet safe, rather than responsible and distraught by turn.

Maybe Shiba is the same. 

What would happen if Souma extended _that_ particular invitation? _Come to bed with me. I know my words have been cruel, but I know what to do with my body. I’d make us both feel good for a while. I’d take care of you._

It doesn’t have to mean more than that, right? 

He sits up a little. Air conditioning hits his bare shoulders and upper arms, making them prickle with gooseflesh. 

No. No, that would be a terrible idea. Until he knows for sure, Haruki might come back. And, yes, Shiba looks good. Souma has eyes that work, and it’s not a fact he feels like denying. But icicles are beautiful too. If you touch one it will freeze you, and freeze you, and then your skin starts to burn. 

“Does it hurt, Gojou?” Shiba loses this odd, silent battle that they’re having. However, there’s something gentle about his question. Something defenseless. 

Souma is confused because there are too many things causing pain. They all hurt. However the blanket slips down further and he sees the bandage on his side. Oh. Right. The clumsy skirmish, the bullet grazing his side. It hurts less than other things.

“Yeah. It woke me up.” 

“Will you be alright?”

“Sure.”

Souma rolls over, pulls the covers over his face, and waits until the dream stops replaying on the back of his eyelids. 

He knows they won’t talk about this in the morning because they don’t communicate much at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from elizabetamargie: “The paint’s supposed to go _where_?”

“This is so stupid. I don’t know why they want us to learn this. On our own time, too!”

His complaints sort of lose steam as he rambles. Souma is actually pretty amused by the visuals of the situation. He’s spread newspapers all over their floor, and he’s sitting in the middle of them. There’s camouflage paint swirling all over his bare torso, occasionally dripping onto the headlines below. It reminds him of finger painting, and he misses the bright colors his students used. He also feels a little high off enclosed fumes, even though Shuusuke has claimed the composition of the stuff is a little different than paint for art or for walls.

There’s an ephemeral glint of light, as Shuusuke adjusts his glasses. For the past hour, he’s been going through a cycle of gazing at Souma, and then typing up a storm at his computer.

“You did a good job, regardless of your annoyance.”

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

This does surprise Souma. He’s been working under the assumption that Shuusuke keeps staring because he’s finding fault with camo paint job. Souma was even mentally gearing up to defend his work. It’s just like when he’d been taught to hand-to-hand combat. It’s like when he’d been taught how to shoot to kill. He’s not here of his own volition, but if he has to do this he’s going to try to be one of the best. And so he’d sat here, kept up a monologue of grievances, and diligently painted all over himself. Because he'd been asked to do it. He painted until he knew he would disappear into certain landscapes.

Although that does raise certain questions; “when have we ever fought anyone in the woods, though? I mean… Seriously.”

“It’s best to be prepared.” Shuusuke’s looking away again. “Anyway, that’s not a camouflage design for the kind of forest you’re thinking of. It’s for woods in the winter. You’ll probably be glad to know it if you ever get sent north.”

Ah, yes. The missions that will come after graduation. He’s trying not to think about them, but in Shuusuke’s mouth they sound doable. Like Souma’s survival is a given.

“Okay, that’s great and all. But this hypothetical mission makes no sense. Why the hell would I be running around in the snow _with no shirt_?”

Shuusuke’s lips quirk into a near-smile. Souma finds himself dying to see the real deal.

“You also haven’t painted your back. I’m afraid that your hypothetical mission is a failure from the start.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Now that he’s finally being critiqued, Souma is almost relieved. “I can’t reach most of it. Sue me. You should do it for me if it bothers you.”

That brings up yet another problem; after graduation, he won’t be sent on missions with Shuusuke anymore. They’d have to do all this on their own.

Shuusuke stands up then, walking over to Souma, settling behind him. He could easily embrace Shuusuke if he wanted to do so. 

“It doesn’t bother me, per se, but I might as well practice, too.”

“What?” And then there are hands, cool with paint, drawing over his back. It should tickle, but every movement brings comfort, and he fights the urge to lean into Shuusuke’s touches. “Oh, okay. Haha, this is like going to the beach. But with dark green paint instead of sunscreen?”

His messiah’s hands are a little smaller than his own, but they have the same callouses as Souma’s. He doesn’t have to look to know the face Shuusuke is making. His lips will thin out, and his eyes would appear intensely analytical. Funny how you can spend just a few months with someone, and see their expressions whenever you close your eyes.

_I’m attracted to Shuusuke._

He lets himself string those words together, finally, instead of letting wisps of the idea float around unexamined. He wonders if it’s fickle to feel this way. If it’s selfish to go from resisting their partnership, to constantly thinking it would be nice to kiss Shuusuke.

“I have an idea. Want to hear it?”

“I’m afraid to ask.” Shuusuke has a wonderful voice. Rich and warm. It’s tempting to bask in it, the same way one basks in sunlight.

_You need to talk more._

“Paint me up in camo colors that match our conference room. That way Ichijima won’t see me.”

Silence. And then a hard, hard grip on his shoulders. Laughter spills out of Shuusuke then, cascading down Souma's back, over the drying paint. He twists to look, because his messiah’s mirth is always contagious. It’s always worth seeing.


End file.
